


Breathing

by dreadpiratewatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending, Hurt John Watson, Idiots in Love, John Loves Sherlock, John is a Very Good Doctor, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mind Palace John, Parental Lestrade, Pining Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart, Sherlock Is Not Okay, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock in Love, Sherlock's Mind Palace, but nothing serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4362323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadpiratewatson/pseuds/dreadpiratewatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John is injured quite severely on a case, for the first time in his life, Sherlock is afraid. He was given an order, to keep John breathing, but the only thing on his mind is being too late, and finally, he comes to terms with the feelings he's locked away for so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everything, so, I haven't done much in a few weeks, (it was more like two and a half, but it feels longer) so, I got up at about six this morning and started writing this, so... I hope it's enjoyed! 
> 
> After this, I will be posting another longer story that will have multiple chapters, and it will be called La Douleur Exquise, so look out for that. 
> 
> Anyway, I love you all! I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Stevie

The hospital was too cold. It was too bright, it was too cold, it smelled too clean, and breathing in hurt. Sherlock Holmes sat shaking in the waiting room of the hospital, freezing from the water, and receiving horrified looks from other patients and nurses that passed by. It was probably because the front of him was still covered in blood.

John's blood.

The detective's stomach flipped, and he tried to keep himself from vomiting again.

He had lost track of how long he had been sitting there. The walls of his mind palace were crumbling and crashing down, and he couldn't think. He had lost all sense of time. At some point, Greg Lestrade had come to him and said in that fatherly-concerned way that John was still in surgery, he would be for another few hours, and that he was going to head back to Baker St. and grab a change of clothes for Sherlock to wear. But, the detective could barely hear him. He had ignored him. It was hours later now, or maybe only a few minutes had passed since then. Sherlock couldn't tell.

The day had started so nicely, Sherlock had been awake for hours before John woke up at nine, then they had breakfast together, although Sherlock preferred to just drink tea, then, Lestrade had called with with an interesting case that was easily an eight on Sherlock's scale, so he and John had run out to catch their murderer. It hadn't taken long, the murderer was actually the wife and her lover. They caught the wife easily, then had to chase the lover down through sewer tunnels and through back streets for nearly an hour.

Somewhere along the way, Sherlock and John had gotten split up, and looking back, the detective couldn't pinpoint when exactly it had happened. Eventually, Sherlock tracked down the lover, and apprehended him, handcuffing him to a pole, and everything seemed to go to hell after that. It was all a blur...

_The man under Sherlock's bony frame squirmed and grunted while the detective fumbled with the pair of handcuffs. He quickly clicked them around the man's hand, then attached the other side to the pole beside him before jumping to his feet. "No point in struggling, there's nothing you can do." The detective snickered._

_The murderer's head snapped up to glare to Sherlock with his dead, colorless eyes. Then, just as quickly as the rage came, it was gone, and suddenly, an evil, ugly smirk was plastered on his face. His tongue darted out to taste the blood on his lips. "I can say the same for you."_

_Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows. "What are you talking about?"_

_"I caught your doctor." The man said, sending a chill down the detective's spine. "He ran into my knife, and I threw him into the gutter. He's probably dead right now, and there's nothing you can do."_

_Sherlock's blood ran ice cold, and he suddenly began to run. "John!" He screamed through the tunnels as he ran as fast as he could, searching every possible gutter for the doctor's body. With every pound of his feet hitting the concrete, the panic got worse, and the only thing he could imagine was being too late. He should have never separated from John, he should have listened, he should have followed him..._

_Sherlock nearly threw himself into the railing of the staircase when he saw the familiar dark coat down bellow. He looked down and his heart nearly stopped at the sight of John's too-still body lying crumpled in the disgusting gutter in a heap, the water around him stained bright red from the blood. "JOHN!" He cried out hysterically. The detective half jumped down the steps in a rush to get to his friend, and when he did, he pushed the doctor onto his back, examining the profusely bleeding stab wound and his face that had gone dead white. "John, wake up!" He ordered, pulling the man up into his arms, ignoring the fact that John's blood was getting all over him. "John, wake up, please, John!" He placed his hands over the wound, and pressed down, hoping to keep the blood in him._

_The doctor seemed to awaken with a start at the slight pressure on his wound. He let out a cough, and then a low, pained cry. "Sherlock..." He rasped._

_"John! John, don't worry, I'm going to call Lestrade, just keep breathing, keep your heart beating." The detective ordered him, pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialing Lestrade's number._

_The DI answered on the second ring. "Sherlock, where-"_

_"Lestrade, please, I need an ambulance here now, John's been stabbed!" He gasped into the phone, his voice raising hysterically. "Please, hurry, he's losing too much blood, I can't help him, I don't know what to do, please help me!"_

_"Sherlock, Sherlock, I need you to calm down, I can't help you if you don't calm down."_

_The detective growled. How was he supposed to calm down? John was dying, and he couldn't fix it! "Lestrade, please!" He begged, tearing coming to his eyes._

_"Sherlock, it's alright, we're coming, where are you?"_

_He looked around him, but never kept up the pressure on John's wound. He quickly stuttered out their location, his voice already beginning to tremble. "Please, hurry, I don't know what to do."_

_"We're coming, Sherlock, just keep him breathing." Then the line went dead._

_Sherlock looked back down and turned his attention back to John, who was only half conscious. He reached out and wiped some of John's hair away from his forehead while his hand trembled and became numb. "John, John look at me, it's okay, Lestrade's on his way, they're going to fix you up, you'll be okay."_

_John opened his eyes, and Sherlock gasped, horror taking over him as he saw just how drained of color they were. He locked eyes with the detective, opened his mouth like he was going to speak, then, without warning, his eye rolled back into his head, and his body went limp in Sherlock's arms. His head lulled to one side, and he lie still._

_"No!" Sherlock screamed, pulling himself closer and cradling John's head in his hands. "John, don't you dare, don't you dare leave me! John, wake up, please!" He begged, tears already staining his cheeks. He made no effort to hold them back. "John, wake up! Don't do this, please!"_

_'Sherlock.' Came a voice from next to him._

_The detective looked up, only to find the John that he had stored in his Mind Palace sitting on his knees beside him, without blood, without a stab wound, just looking down at the detective with a loving, concerned expression. His heart skipped a beat. 'Sherlock, you need calm down, love." He murmured, reaching out and moving a curl out Sherlock's face._

_"I can't just calm down, you're dying and I don't know what to do!" He stuttered, looking back between the real, blood covered John, and the one that was all in his head._

_Mind Palace John gave him a gentle, loving smile, just to reassure him. "It's going to be alright, but you have to keep me breathing.' He said softly, gently, just like he always did when he was injured and Sherlock had to help him._

_"I don't know how!" Sherlock shot back, his voice coming out choked and strangled. "I don't know how!"_

_Mind Palace John reached out and caressed his cheek, wiping a tear from the ashen skin. 'Shhh... Yes you do, love, you know what to do.' He whispered._

_Sherlock wanted to lean into the contact, to envelope himself in the arms of Mind Palace John and just disappear, just like he always did when he was sacred or sad, but he couldn't. Not while the_ real _John was dying. The real John who would bring him tea and patch him up after cases, but never stroke his face so lovingly and call him 'love'. "Please, John, tell me what to do." He pleaded. "I'm scared, I don't-"_

_Mind Palace John pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. 'I know you're scared, sweetheart, but you need to help me. You know CPR, I know you do. Lestrade is on his way, but without CPR, there's no chance. Keep me breathing. Keep my heart beating. It'll be okay. I believe in you.' Then, as quickly the detective blinked, he was gone._

_Sherlock looked back down at the unconscious form of John Watson on the ground, and wiped the tears from his cheeks, not caring that he had probably gotten blood all over his face. He folded himself over the doctor's limp body, and gently touched his lips to John's for the first time. It shouldn't have given him butterflies, but it did, and he never felt so wrong in his whole life. John's lips were cold and chapped and they tasted of blood. It sent a serge of panic and nausea through Sherlock's body. John wasn't cold, he was warm and his lips were always soft, and he knew that John would taste like sunshine and honey and warm tea, and it wasn't supposed to be like this! The detective pulled away, and gasped for air. He had to do this. He swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat, and leaned down once again, and began with the two necessary rescue breaths before starting on chest compressions. "John, please!" He begged tearfully. "John, please don't leave me, this is my fault, I'm so sorry! I love you, you idiot, you don't get to die!"_

_John didn't respond._

_He had completed the CPR cycle four times before the ambulance and Lestrade finally arrived, and Sherlock was immediately ripped away from John's body by paramedics. He screamed and protested, fighting against the strong grips until Lestrade finally got hold of him, and began shouting commands at him, looking him over and trying to calm him down._

_Sherlock's head was swimming and he could no longer control his breathing. He was hyperventilating horribly and on the verge of passing out, but he knew his mind wouldn't let him sleep. He pushed away from Greg Lestrade, and tried stumbling away, just until he reached the wall, and noticed that he was still covered in blood. The sight and the smell of it caused Sherlock to fall against the wall and heave up the contents of his stomach, which was very little, as he hadn't actually eaten in a few days. The detective became weak, and suddenly fell down into the arms of the DI._

_"Sherlock, they've got a pulse, but we need to get to the hospital. Come on, we'll ride with him." Greg's voice came from somewhere far away._

_He suddenly felt himself being carried forward, and stuffed into the back of the ambulance, his only view being John's broken, blood covered body. Out of pure compulsion, he reached out and touched the back of John's hand, and finally found his way the the weak, but present beating of his pulse. Sherlock's head dropped, and he let out a low, choked sob, wrapping his arms around his torso. He felt Lestrade place an arm around his shoulders, but it did nothing._

Hours later, the detective was sitting in the hospital waiting room, shivering and covered in blood, unable to move, unable to speak. There was nothing he could do.

Finally, after what seemed like years, a lanky male nurse with crinkly red hair and at least a thousand freckles came out, and called for Sherlock. The detective shot up and got to his feet, looming over the shorter man, demanding to know about John. "He's going to be just fine, Mr. Holmes. The wound was a lot less deep than we originally thought, but where it hit caused a lot of blood loss. However, he's all patched up and he's resting." He said too cheerfully. "You can go in and see him if you would like. He's been asking for you since he woke up."

Sherlock let out a shaky breath, and stepped around the man, walking slowly to John's room. He found it easily, and when he stepped in the doorway, his heart fluttered, and he tried not to cry.

John looked fine.

The color had returned to his face and his lips, he was breathing slowly and evenly, and he was alive. He had a few cuts and bruises along his arms as well as a butterfly bandage covering a cut on his right cheek. He was still in a hospital gown, and Sherlock couldn't see the wound, but he looked _better._ John was _okay._

As if he heard Sherlock's heart rate increase, John's head lulled to the other side sleepily, and he opened his eyes. Sherlock nearly fell over at the sight of the gorgeous blue he had fallen in love with. John looked like John again, and it was almost too much for his heart to handle. "Hey, you." The doctor muttered, his voice slightly hoarse.

Sherlock said nothing, but kept his eyes fixed on his friend, as if he would disappear if he looked away.

John sighed. "Are you just going to stand in the doorway, or are you going to come in?"

Again, the detective said nothing, but he moved to the chair by John's bedside while the doctor took a good look at him.

"Jesus, Sherlock, whose blood is that?" He demanded.

He swallowed hard. "Yours." He said, dropping his head. "Lestrade... Greg, I mean, he uh... He went to get me new clothes, but he... He wasn't back yet." His voice was much too soft and strangled to be speaking coherently, but by some miracle, he was.

John let out a heavy sigh, then a grunt of pain. "So, did you catch him?"

Sherlock's head shot up, his eyes flashing with rage. "Do you really think I care about that, right now, John? If so, you really are an idiot." He snapped.

John looked over at him, his eyes hurt.

The detective let out a shaking breath, feeling the rage leave his body. He honestly hadn't meant to snap at John, it was just instinct. In the back of his mind, Sherlock knew that John believed that the only thing he cared about was the Work. Of course, in his defense, it used to be the only thing, then Moriarty tried to blow him up, and Sherlock realized he had been that close to losing the only person he ever cared about more than himself. He never told John, but of course, why would he? He just kept a version of him in his Mind Palace, behind a special closed door that he only opened on special occasions, and he would pretend it was actually the real John. In actuality, he should have told John the truth a long time ago, but, be that as it may, John was alive, and he wasn't ready to attempt to have that conversation. He would save it for another day. "Sorry." He said finally. 

"S'alright."

"I did catch him. Handcuffed him to a pole. Police picked him up."

"Oh. Good. That's uh... That's good."

There was a silence that fell over the two that had never fallen over them before. It was awkward, like the shock of the incident was still lingering over them, although they had dealt with such things before. Sherlock swallowed hard. "How's the pain?" He asked carefully.

John cleared his throat. "It's alright. I've had worse. I've also had better, but it's okay."

"Good. You're useless to me dead." The detective replied, attempting to joke.

The doctor laughed. "Oh, good to know."

Sherlock smirked. "I'm serious, if you're too hurt, I'll have to replace you."

"Hey, mate, you're the one that kissed me." John shot back, still giggling.

Sherlock turned to him, suddenly very serious, his eyes narrowing into a glare, but he could feel his cheeks turning a bit red. "That _wasn't_ a kiss, it was CPR, and it saved your life."

"Whatever you say." He snickered.

"John, I had to keep you breathing!" He protested almost angrily.

John scoffed. "Breathing's boring." He replied in a poor imitation oft he detective's voice.

Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath and looked away from the doctor lying in the hospital bed. He knew he was joking around, but it still stung. He blinked away the sudden tears that clouded his vision and tried to swallow the lump that rose to heavily in his throat. "Not when _you_ do it, you idiot."

He heard John's heart monitor skip a beat, and for a moment, he was afraid he had said too much. Then, "Sherlock, I was only kidding. I'm sorry." He replied apologetically.

"You almost died, John." Sherlock rasped, still refusing to look at him. "You almost died, and I couldn't... I couldn't fix it. I froze up. I felt scared for the first time in my life, and I didn't know what to do."

"You saved my life, Sherlock." John protested.

"Barely."

The doctor went silent, and lie back against the bed. He didn't seem to know what to say to that. "Did you mean what you said?"

Sherlock looked up in confusion.

John caught his eye, and then looked away. "I heard you say that you... That you loved me. Did you mean it?" He replied.

Sherlock was frozen. He had been so eager to see John, but now all he wanted to do was run away and hide forever. He didn't want this. Not like this. He didn't want John to know. _Why did you say that? Why the_ hell _did you say that? You have to lie. Lie, or he's going to leave you._ He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, he sucked in a sharp breath and dropped his head, ashamed of himself.

"Hey, hey, don't do that." John spoke softly, just like Mind Palace John always did, and it made the detective's heart flutter. He felt John's hand tug at his coat in an attempt to pull him up. "Come here. Come sit with me."

He looked up, shocked. "John, I-"

"It's all fine, Sherlock. Just come here." John said, giving him him signature smile. _Trust me like I trust you,_ the smile said.

Sherlock got to his feet, took off the Belstaff coat, and placed it on the chair behind him before moving all of the hospital equipment out of the way and crawling up into the hospital bed with John. He lie down on his side, facing the doctor, who was smiling down at him. He would never admit to how loudly his heart was hammering against his rib cage, but he was certain John could hear it. "Are you sure this is okay?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

John nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. "It makes this so much easier."

"It makes what so much easier?"

John turned to face him, and slowly, as to not rip his staples, he moved just so that he was hovering just above the detective. He was so close, Sherlock could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over his cheeks, which made his heart rate increase significantly once again. "I'm going to try something. I just need you to remember to breathe, love."

Sherlock was too frozen to breathe. He waited as John got closer, and pressed his lips gently to Sherlock's own, making him see white behind his eyes. Everything felt.. He couldn't tell. In the midst of the kiss, Sherlock had lost all sense of right and wrong, but he knew that if this, if kissing John Watson was wrong, he would rather be hanged in the streets before he believed anything so beautiful could be so wrong _._ Kissing John was everything he imagined it would be, John was warm, and his lips were soft, and he tasted so sweet, like sun and honey and everything beautiful in the world. Sherlock had to continuously remind himself that it wasn't fake, that this was all very, very real, and this was the _real_ John, the one that giggled with him at crime scenes, brought him tea in the mornings, yelled at him for breaking his computer or using all of the milk on some experiment. He documented it all. In that moment, he decided that the world could be falling apart, the sky could be on fire, or anything else awful and life threatening, hedidn't care what, but when the day was done, all he wanted was to kiss John over and over and over again. Even when John tried to pull away, Sherlock pulled him down again, deepening the kiss he had waited so long for, and from above him, John chuckled, and reached down to cradle the detective's face in his hands.

When he pulled away, Sherlock could feel his face burning up, and it only got worse as John began to smile. He leaned down and kissed Sherlock one more time, softer than the first, but just as passionate, then leaned down to whisper in his ear. "We'll call that our first kiss, yeah?"

Sherlock Holmes nodded, but most undoubtedly, forgot how to breathe.


End file.
